The Journal of 1D's Makeup Artist
by Aeryn Lorelei
Summary: Scottie Richards has never been happy. When she is dragged by her famous dad to England, she is forced to help with One Direction on their tour in America/ Canada. Will Scottie learn how to have live again? Or is she going in the wrong direction?


_Day 1_

My name Scottie Richards. Early seventeen. Homeschooled. I'm girl, don't be fooled by my name. Before I get started, I don't even think I'll finish this journal because it's such a cliche. But right now, my life is boring. I have nothing else better to do. So basically, this is my life until I run out of pages.

Anyways, there's a lot I want to say about myself and the world. Kids, don't do drugs.

I live in Sydney, Australia. I wasn't born there, but it's as amazing as people describe it. Times 20. I'm not bragging or anything, in fact It's more embarrassing to say it, but I live in a mansion. A big one. I rather people pitied me than envy me because it's always so lonely there. I actually hate it. My mom died when I was two, which is actually something I wish people didn't pity me for, because I don't remember her. I have no remorse for myself. My dad is always busy at work. The only people I have as company are my fish and possible ghosts. I wish I could see them, at least I wouldn't have felt so lonely.

Getting off topic. Sorry, sometimes I can spill out my thoughts on these pages, only throwing them out afterwards, cuz my mind is sort of messed. I'm broken. I don't admit it, but Iam. But it's not as hard to keep it inside as those drama movies explain it. I actually am quite optimistic. Aha, I can tell who ever's reading this frown in disbelief. I love how I can tell without even knowing the person's name.

I should tell you about my dad. He's huge in the music industry. He's famous. I'm just known as his his daughter. The things people do just to meet him by using me. I'm smarter than that though.

I don't mind living in his shadow. In fact I kind of like it. I wouldn't want my face plastered on the front cover of the Rolling Stone magazine and have people know things about me that I didn't even know.

Anyways, he's big in the music industry. Basically, his job is to find talent to make the company he's working for even more rich. He's known as the "dream completer" because he makes people big. It's all competition in the music industry, it's not all fun and games as it seems. My dad, I should tell you his name (which is Simon Richards, but he's known as "Richie"), not only finds talent, but has this special power to sense if they have the "it" factor. In my words, the "it" factor is if they don't resemble a platypus so people picture them as heartthrobs. He's basically looking for perfection, inside and in. Perfection is what society's looking for. Everyone wants a Barbie or Ken physique. Fans can compare themselves to them and try to be like them as much as a possible. If only people never did this. That is the answer to prevent hating.

Oh right, my job is a makeup artist. I have to put on makeup on celebrities to help my dad. He wants me to be around him, and the people in the industry thought I was a burden. So I was forced to become a makeup artist. You would think this is a fun job, but it's not. You wouldn't believe how snobby they were. You could basically see a thought bubble over their heads which contains something like "Oh, I'm so much prettier than her." or "Her eyes are so big, mine are so much more beautiful." Of course these are only girls thoughts, I can't torture myself to write out guy thoughts, which are not that insulting, but uh . . . wrong and disturbing.

ANYWAYS, why must we compare ourselves? Let's not forget that we ARE society.

So bored. Oh right, did I mention that we're flying into London, England, right this second? I guess I should be excited, but all I feel is jet lagged. I hate it when my dad drags me around to make his image appear like he's a loving father. Like he misses me whenever he's gone. Like he wants me to be happy. As if. I hate this. I'm forced to look like I'm having fun. Well, my plane is actually landing right this second. I'll write again after they're done examining my bra for bombs and my underwear for knives. I'll write again after I take a long shower and nap at the hotel we're staying in.

We're not even staying at a hotel. We're staying at a house. Why the heck did my dad rent a mansion that's twice as a big as ours? We only need to fit two people! There are 7 bedrooms upstairs plus 3 bathrooms. There are 5 extra bedrooms. I just finished unpacking and my dad is gone for his meeting or something. He told me to stay in my room. Screw that, I'm lonely again. Even halfway around the world I'm lonely. Will that ever change? Whatever, I'll get lost in this house. That will kill time.


End file.
